


The Game

by LyricWing



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Gambling, Hair-pulling, M/M, Pillory, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyricWing/pseuds/LyricWing
Summary: Claude and Yuri play a game.
Relationships: Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> A Secret Santa gift for Yvinaire. I zeroed in on Claude/Yuri on your wishlist, and then this sort of just popped into my head. I have never written anything remotely like this before, so I hope it's okay.
> 
> Also, this was supposed to be 750 words. I can't be trusted to keep things short.

Far below the hallowed grounds of the monastery, through labyrinthine tunnels that wind away from Abyss, hedonists make their way. Some skulk, ducking their heads, avoiding the eyes of their fellow travelers. Others carouse, stumbling with their arms around each other, merry with ale. But no matter how they carry themselves, they all follow the same path, for they don't want to miss the midnight show.

At the end of their route, the hallway opens up into a large room that comfortably fits the gathering crowd. No one knows the room's original purpose. A torture chamber? A site for ritualistic sacrifice? Storage? It matters not, for this place is now a _theater._ The stage, a round, wooden platform about three feet high, beckons all attendees to gather around it in the center of the room. 

Tonight's guest is an interesting one. The pillory that restrains his neck and wrists is set low enough that he is forced to bend at the waist, yet despite the posture he's been made to maintain, he meets the eyes of the spectators without shame, tossing out smirks and winks like favors at a parade. Standing next to him is the Lord of the Underworld himself.

“Ever the showman, aren't you, Claude?” Yuri muses, draping one arm casually on the pillory.

“Oh, you know,” Claude responds just as casually. “These people came to see a show. I'm just giving them what they paid for.”

Yuri looks around the room to do his pre-show check. Balthus, who waits at his usual post at the room's entrance, peers out into the hallway and gives Yuri a thumbs up—everyone's here who's going to be here. One of Yuri's people, someone he trusts to keep the cash box away from Balthus, nods curtly as they prepare their logbook and quill—the admission fees have all been paid. And at the side of the stage, Hapi checks a tarnished silver pocket watch and smirks up at Yuri—the midnight hour has arrived. Yuri lifts an arm invitingly out to the side, and the crowd falls silent.

“Good evening, my friends,” Yuri begins. “Tonight, we have a very special guest. Joining us for our game this evening, we have the illustrious Claude von Riegan!”

A wave of interested murmurs ripples over the audience. _Von Riegan? As in, the Alliance noble family? That von Riegan?_

“Say hello, Claude,” says Yuri, scrubbing one hand through Claude's thick hair.

“Thanks so much for having me, truly. Such a lovely space you have here, beautiful weather,” Claude replies glibly, drawing out scattered laughs from the spectators.

“Now Claude,” Yuri chides. “These lovely people didn't come all the way here for some garden-variety comedy bit.” He grins devilishly. “They came for a different kind of show.”

The crowd cheers and claps in raucous agreement.

“Most of you already know how our game works, but in case you're new, let me explain. In short, this is a battle of endurance. I'm going to fuck him—”

A whoop rings out from someone who is far too drunk to still be standing.

Yuri continues, “And if he manages to outlast me, then he can make one request of me.”

“I already know what I'm going to ask for,” Claude declares.

Yuri manages not to scoff. It's always the same: some insignificant man who is far more impressive in his own mind than he is in reality announces like it's some kind of revelation that when he wins, he will lock Yuri into the pillory instead and take him right then and there. They never have the chance though.

“Oh?” Is all he says.

“I've heard many interesting things about you,” Claude starts, with exaggerated intrigue. “Many interesting things indeed. When I win, I want to ask you some questions.”

Claude truly is the most fascinating guest Yuri has had here. He doesn't know what sort of _interesting things_ Claude has heard or even why he wants to know, but it doesn't matter. Yuri circles around to the front of the pillory with slow, deliberate steps, and the crowd watches with silent anticipation. Stopping in front of Claude, he crouches to look him right in the eye.

“I wouldn't get too cocky,” he cautions. “Because I've _never_ lost.”

The gauntlet has been thrown, and the audience rumbles excitedly. To Claude's credit, he seems completely unruffled, and he doesn't break eye contact until Yuri stands back up.

“My friends, we have truly a one-of-a-kind show for you tonight. How long do you think Claude will last? Place your bets now!”

A good portion of the crowd, more than usual, make their way to Yuri's associate with the cash box and the logbook. He'll have to thank Claude for the bump in revenue, maybe give him a little cut if he performs especially well. Of course, before they can get to the main performance, proper preparation comes first. When he drops Claude's pants and smalls to the floor, Claude feigns a violent shiver.

“Brr! I feel quite the draft all of a sudden,” muses Claude, as though Yuri hadn't explained to him exactly what was going to happen a few days prior.

“Yes, yes, we all know how much of a jokester you are,” Yuri says as he pours oil over his fingers from a vial that makes its way back to his coat pocket after its quick appearance.

Yuri's slick finger probes Claude's entrance, and he places a grounding palm onto the small of Claude's back. 

“Relax,” he murmurs before he pushes his finger inside.

Yuri coaxes Claude open with businesslike precision. As the crowd around the bookkeeper dwindles, he adds a second and then third finger, all of which Claude takes with a suspicious degree of ease. It isn't until he begins feeling carefully around the front wall that Claude pipes up again.

“Looking to give yourself a handicap, are you? Honestly, I considered you above such treachery.”

“Well, you have only yourself to blame for that misconception,” Yuri quips back. “And besides, you know I'm taking great pains to ensure your comfort.”

“Surely no greater pains than I,” remarks Claude. “Would it kill you to cushion this thing a little? My neck is starting to hurt.”

“Hush.” Yuri watches the last of the gamblers rejoin the crowd around the stage. “It's time to begin.”

The audience seems to have the same realization when Yuri withdraws his fingers to unfasten his pants. Whispering amongst themselves, they watch as Yuri takes his cock out and strokes it to full hardness with more oil from the vial.

“My friends, are you ready?” Yuri calls out as he aligns the head of his cock with Claude's entrance.

The resulting cheers and applause reverberate off the stone walls.

“Is our timekeeper ready?”

Hapi nods, her eyes on the watch.

“And is our guest ready?”

“Yeah, let's get this thing going before my back gives out.” Claude punctuates the statement with a little wiggle.

Yuri barely grants him an eye roll before looking at Hapi.

“Hapi, would you do the honors?”

“Sure thing, Yuri-bird,” says Hapi. “And...go!”

Yuri's cock glides all the way into Claude with ease, and as Yuri begins to rock his hips, he is suddenly thankful for their similar heights. Claude takes him like a natural, squeezing around Yuri each time he withdraws and pushing back against him with every thrust in. It would be so easy to get swept up in the wild energy of the spectators and the hot pressure around his cock.

Hapi's first checkpoint seems to come out of nowhere. “One minute!”

Already? Time flies when you're having fun, Yuri supposes. There's a cry of anguish from someone who evidently had very little faith in Claude. It serves as a warning not to lose himself, not to forget his goal, and especially not to underestimate Claude.

Now that they've become acclimated to each other, the game truly begins. It's a race now to find the easiest way to achieve victory while still satisfying their viewers. While it could be quickest to simply grab Claude's cock and jerk him off, a quick show would be quite the let-down for their paying customers. Plus, it's likely what Claude expects, and he's certain that if he wants to win, he'll have to make sure not to play into Claude's expectations. No, he'll need to start with subtler tactics and pay careful attention to Claude's reactions. With the pillory blocking his line of sight, there's no way for Yuri to read Claude's face, so he'll have to watch out for other signals. 

Yuri begins to case Claude's body. His hands rove under the hem of Claude's shirt, over the cords of muscle on his back. He then curls his fingers and rakes his nails over Claude's skin as he draws his hands back. No reaction yet, not from Claude, anyway. The audience roars in approval.

“Slap his ass!” A spectator suggests.

They do always like it when Yuri employs a rougher touch. He indulges them, applying a swift and smarting strike to Claude's right ass cheek. There's raucous cheering that surges when Yuri smacks Claude's ass again on the other side.

And yet, still nothing from Claude. Claude continues rhythmically squeezing down on Yuri's cock, but there's no jerking or jolting, no rolling his body into Yuri's touch. If Claude is making any noise at all, Yuri can't hear it over the din of the crowd. Hmm...

“Three minutes!”

Time for a different approach. Yuri lays his chest against Claude's back, pushes his cock in deep, and _grinds._

“Having fun yet, Claude?” He inquires conversationally.

Claude twists his head enough that Yuri can see the corner of that same, fake smile he always wears. “Totally. I'm having a blast!”

There's a slight breathlessness to his tone that can be easily attributed to the nature of the activity itself, but otherwise, he sounds unaffected. What an infuriating, frustrating, intriguing man Claude is! Still, Yuri has to keep trying. Taking advantage of their position, he pulls up Claude's shirt and traces his hands over his lean-muscled chest—archery has certainly done wonders for his physique. He finds Claude's nipples and rubs them to hardness with the pads of his fingers.

“How about your nipples? Are they sensitive?” Yuri purrs in an effort to make Claude really focus on the sensation.

“Not really,” replies Claude, blasé.

Almost on a whim, Yuri pinches Claude's nipples, and _there's_ a reaction, _finally._ It's minute, a momentary tensing of his core muscles that Yuri would not have noticed had he not been draped over Claude so. _Not really,_ Claude had said. Well, _not really_ isn't the same as _not at all._ He tries again, adding a bit of a twisting motion this time, and...nothing.

“Five minutes!”

Yuri straightens back up but still grinds his hips into Claude's in deep undulations. As Claude always does, he's been keeping his cards close to his chest, but Yuri's pretty sure he's figured out a way past his wall of casual indifference—keep Claude guessing. Defy his expectations. If he's caught off guard, he'll react. Mounting his hands firmly on Claude's hips, he opts for a change in pace. He shifts smoothly into long, deep thrusts, and on that first push in, he's rewarded.

“A-aah!”

Claude's cry is quickly swallowed by a spike in the crowd's enthusiasm, but Yuri latches on to it all the same. _Gotcha!_ The heated clench of Claude's hole around his entire cock feels fantastic; what feels even better, however, is _impending victory._ As the cheers abate, Yuri hears his name.

“Yuri,” Claude rasps, actually panting a little now. “Deep...”

“Oh? You like that?” Yuri asks sweetly, teasing him with shallow strokes.

“Yeah,” Claude nearly whimpers, trying to push himself back onto Yuri, _goddess bless him._

The people all around surge with excitement as Yuri stuffs Claude full once more, and Yuri smirks at the shudder that clambers all the way up Claude's body. It's too soon to celebrate, but with Claude's defenses soundly punctured, it's only a matter of time. He finds the vial of oil again, and without breaking his rhythm, he drizzles enough onto their junction that droplets land on the floor, as if he's come already. Casting it and his jacket onto the floor behind him, he widens his stance, ready to push his advantage.

Noise inundates the space around them, the air Yuri breathes. There's a checkpoint called, or maybe two, or three, but they blend indistinguishably into the clamor of other voices. The lock on the pillory clatters. The crowd roars and howls on all sides. Yuri changes his pace again, and Claude moans, louder now, some inarticulate jumble of words like _more_ and _deeper_ tumbling out. At random intervals, Yuri smacks Claude's ass, the sharp crack of the impact stoking the crowd further and making Claude's hips jolt.

“Yuri...aah...come in me,” Claude manages over the cacophony.

Wait a minute...the hell? Even as the audience absolutely eats up Claude's words, they ring a warning bell in Yuri's cotton-filled head. From some distant plane, a realization spears through him like a bolt from a ballista—that is exactly what Claude wants him to do.

He's faking it, the bastard. Yuri should have known better than to think it would be this easy. They've been whittling away the time like this, Yuri playing into what he thought would win him the match, and Claude had been egging him on. All the while, Yuri had been unwittingly driving himself closer and closer, and Claude isn't as far along as Yuri thought. 

Or is he? The best lies, Yuri knows, are based in truth. Reining in his pleasure-hazed mind, he thinks back. He recalls the first reaction he managed to get out of Claude, likely the most genuine, that clench of muscles from a twinge of pain. _Keep him guessing._ Yuri gets an idea, one last gambit to try as he nears his peak.

“You ready for it?” Yuri rumbles, reaching around to Claude's cock as if to finish him off that way and finding that he's definitely leaking pre-come. While Claude's words may be an exaggeration, his cock can't lie.

“Yeah, I want it. P-please!” Claude whines.

“All right...here it is!” In one quick motion, he moves his hand off Claude's cock, roots his fingers in Claude's lush hair, and yanks _hard._

Claude's high groan is a noise Yuri has not yet heard from him tonight, but there's barely any time to contemplate it before Hapi calls, “Time!” The crowd explodes into noise. As the din settles over his mind, so too does the realization that he _won._ He withdraws from Claude completely, both to do his due diligence and show the audience that he has not come yet and also to see the proof for himself. The little puddle of spend beneath them is all the proof he needs. _Shit,_ that was close.

Now all that's left is to close out the show. Yuri raises one hand to silence the audience and looks expectantly at Hapi.

“Eleven minutes, forty-three seconds!” Hapi announces.

Yuri gathers enough air behind his voice to call out over the mix of cheers and groans. “You heard her, friends. Claude's time is eleven forty-three! He didn't manage to beat me, but hasn't he been great? Let's give him a round of applause!”

Even those who lost money betting today join in as the audience claps, whistles, and cheers for their new favorite guest. Yuri leans in towards Claude again.

“Now, you're welcome to tap out if you've truly had enough, but do you mind if I finish up?”

“By all means,” Claude acquiesces with the same easy-going affect he always wears.

“Such a good sport,” Yuri commends before lining himself back up and pushing into Claude's hole again.

A few excited patrons fragment off from the main group to hound the bookkeeper, and one or two more have passed out drunk on the floor, but most of the crowd hangs around to watch. It isn't long—seriously, Yuri cut it far too close—until Yuri drives in one last time and comes with a groan. There's more applause and then hushed giggling and whispering among repeat watchers who know what comes next. Yuri toweling off and putting himself back into his pants is nothing special, but interest picks up again as he retrieves a rectangular mirror from his discarded coat and applies a layer of purple lipstick. With one last smirk at his reflection, Yuri puts his tools away and stands behind Claude.

Yuri spreads him apart with one hand on each cheek, and the crowd shuffles around to see. It's truly a lovely sight; Claude's hole gapes open a bit, drooling a line of cum. Yuri kneels and presses a violet kiss right next to it, his artist's signature. When he stands and moves to the side, the audience cheers one last time.

“There you have it, friends! That's tonight's show! I'll see you next time!”

The crowd begins to disperse, some heading out immediately, some visiting the bookkeeper to settle their bets, and some gathering up drunken friends. A few of them will awaken tomorrow with a terrible hangover, a true sign of a fun night. Yuri is still riding high on his win when he unlocks the pillory, but he has the grace to subdue the mood by the time Claude stands to his full height.

“I'm telling you, you really ought to think about putting some padding on that thing,” Claude complains as he cleans himself up with another rag Yuri keeps around. “My neck is killing me!”

Once he finishes wiping up, Claude bends to pull up his pants with a nonchalant dignity Yuri never sees from someone who just got fucked in the ass in front of a crowd of people. He can respect that, definitely.

“So you say,” Yuri says, brushing him off. “Though if you're that concerned about how comfortable it is, perhaps you intend to return sometime? The crowd certainly loves you.”

Claude's eyes glitter like twin emeralds, multifaceted and mysterious. “Perhaps I might. I still have questions I want to ask you.”

Yuri can only guess what tidbits of his storied past Claude has sniffed out. Of course, to criticize him for his curiosity would be hypocritical; rumors about Claude have blown into Yuri's ears as well.

“I'll admit, I'd love the chance to pick your brain as well, perhaps over tea or chess?” Yuri remarks, meeting Claude's gaze unflinchingly. 

“Hmm, I believe I'm amenable to that,” muses Claude.

While the reasons of Claude's participation are no clearer now than they were earlier, he doesn't carry the regret of someone who has lost. Perhaps he got what he came for, whatever it was. Even so, Yuri's interest is piqued. _The game continues._


End file.
